


The Flesh of a Nectarine

by AddyCat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls, Historical, Homoeroticism, M/M, Renaissance Era, Self-Indulgent, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:35:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25638892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AddyCat/pseuds/AddyCat
Summary: He thinks idly to himself how it may bring some dynamic to the work if he were provided with a fruit; perhaps a nectarine, supple and fresh from a well-grown branch. It would fit properly in his palm and its full flesh would feel crisp beneath his tapered fangs. He could bite into it with all the sensuality he possessed until sticky juice dribbled down his chest and trailed down his chest in a thin, sweet rivulet--and while Liudolf considered the fact that his newfound vampirism may mute its exquisite flavor, the visual aspect of it alone would be enough to satisfy his urge to taunt.
Kudos: 4





	The Flesh of a Nectarine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a terribly self-indulgent drabble written for one of my role-play ships; both vampires, taking place in the late 14th century. The inspiration behind it? The inexplicable homoeroticism of having your lover painted by candlelight by an artist you have commissioned with your own two hands. Enjoy!

“My neck has become far too tired,” he groans with a growing level of petulance, typically-neutral tone more pitched in volume as brows pinch together. “I’m certain that if I am to be stuck in this position for even a moment longer, I may become frozen like this for the rest of my immortality.” Liudolf is almost painfully aware of the fact that his dramatized complaints reek of a decadence he should be more grateful for--and yet, as his muscles seize together with mounting tension, the young fledgling cannot help but feel trapped--like a white-feathered sparrow held captive in a gilded cage. The imagery itself is fitting for the young creature, for his fair locks cascade upon a thin shoulder in gleaming hues of sunlight-gold, loose plaits of his braid unraveling ever so slightly where they rest. The glowing candlelight sheds its warm, dusky hues against pale flesh all the while--and though the beauty of the sun’s brilliant haze is out of reach, both he and the painter are able to ascertain the beauty of his lithe figure within the shadows. Or, at the very least, Liudolf hopes that the artist can fine-tune the details.

The sound of his lover’s baritone chuckle is faraway and distant--and for the umpteenth time that evening, Liudolf contends with the overwhelming desire to reach out for him and to pull him close until their mouths connect. It’s cruel to leave him so purposely touch-starved for hours upon hours--and while Damien had assured him that the time would flash by before Liudolf even realized it, the younger vampire can’t help but feel as if he had been cheated. “My love, you’re doing so well. Only a bit more time and it’ll be over before you know it.” When Damien steps forth, the delicate flames flickering upon the candelabra bathe him in streaks of orange and yellow. Liudolf wants nothing more than to crane his head back and take the elder death dealer in with his eyes, to drink in every detail of his tall, sturdy frame and outline the familiar dips and edges of his muscles--and as much as the temptation makes his heart stutter, he opts to hold himself rigid instead. He only catches sight of Damien’s long legs from his periphery and, once again, the younger is reminded of the restlessness blossoming in the pit of his stomach.

“You look stunning,” Damien begins again--and in spite of himself, Liudolf’s lips curl into the slightest hint of a smug-looking smirk; clear blue hues dance alight like the flames to his left, but he dares not turn to face him at the risk of upsetting the painter’s fragile sensibilities.

Instead, the fledgling hums softly in response, internally imagining the way Damien’s gaze must be eating up every fine-tuned facet of him from where he lays lounging upon the scenery arranged for his portrait. He thinks idly to himself how it may bring some dynamic to the work if he were provided with a fruit; perhaps a nectarine, supple and fresh from a well-grown branch. It would fit properly in his palm and its full flesh would feel crisp beneath his tapered fangs. He could bite into it with all the sensuality he possessed, until sticky juice dribbled down his chest and trailed down his chest in a thin, sweet rivulet--and while Liudolf considered the fact that his newfound vampirism may mute its exquisite flavor, the visual aspect of it alone would be enough to satisfy his urge to taunt. Or, the fledgling thinks, even a pomegranate would suffice; while the small seeds were difficult to capture in his maw, the ruby-red tint that would stain his lips and his tongue with its tart essence would be a rather stunning detail to add some dimension…

“My love.” The sound of Damien’s low rumble was enough to pull Liudolf’s thoughts free from the potential of fruits & juice-slicked sweetness. “You’re growing distracted,” the elder reprimands, but Liudolf hardly misses the lurking undertone of amusement hidden beneath firm words. “Exactly what is it that you’re thinking in that pretty head of yours?”

“A secret,” Liudolf muses, a delicate laugh bubbling from his chest as he realizes how caught in his daydream he had become.

“A secret? Now, now. Don’t play coy with me.”

He tilts his head only a fraction of a centimeter, enough for clear blue irises to flick up to meet a commanding emerald gaze--and when he does, the taunting smirk dancing upon Liudolf’s lips only widens in its mirth. “I need not provide you with more distractions,” he reasons carefully. “If I told you what runs through my mind’s eye, you may grow uncomfortable.” The last word lips his lips with a certain implication--and judging by the sound of the muted growl that rumbles within Damien’s chest in response, he is certain that the other has picked up on it.

“Tell me regardless, my sweet.”

Liudolf exhales a thoughtful sigh, carefully positioning his head back into the perfect arch that the painter originally wanted (the artist’s subtle scoff is enough to remind Liudolf why he is perched so sensually in the first place.) “I was merely considering,” Liudolf begins deliberately, “how the piece may benefit from a touch of dynamism.” Damien’s quiet hum of acknowledgment settles between them as he considers his next few words. 

“Consider, if you may, the addition of a fruit. Something small--perhaps a nectarine, or a pomegranate. It could fit perfectly in my palm.” He poses the observation idly, as if it’s nothing more than a passing fascination. “And if I were to, say, bite into it… the flesh would be soft. Supple with enough spring to it that the juice my spurt.” Liudolf exhales a breath, focusing his intent on the sound of Damien’s quiet breaths. “It would be quite beautiful, do you not agree? Juice dripping down my chest; oh, the mess it would make, though.” Liudolf tsks playfully, this time noting the quiet groan that threatens to rumble past the confines of the elder vampire’s chest. “It would drip down my chest, perhaps stain my tunic… you had spent so long selecting this garment for me earlier… I would feel terrible were I to soil it in a sticky, sweet mess.”

“You taunt me,” Damien comments, his voice low and almost dangerous now.

“And if I am?” Liudolf’s delicate lilt grows innocent, coated thick with feigned sweetness. “I am, like you said, meant to lounge here idly for the next few hours… not a thing neither you nor I can do about it, hm?”

“Ah, my love, you see--I am in the business of biding my time. Perhaps it will take a few hours longer for us to complete this task, but surely--you will be at my disposal soon after.”

The confidence with which Damien speaks is enough to send a subtle shiver down the curve of Liudolf’s spine, toes curling & fingers itching to reach out and touch. He dares not move from his perch, instead allowing a pink to dart forward and lick his lips in anticipation. “Perhaps,” he continues coyly, only revelling further in the the sound of muted frustration echoing from Damien’s vicinity. Liudolf threatens to stir but as the painter lifts his head to cast a stern, callous look in his directions, the fledgling settles.

Delicate features contort with mild annoyance for only a moment--and before he forces himself to settle once more, he sneaks a usurping glance in his lover’s direction; the smolder he meets is one to cause his insides to coil, burning bright with a renewed sense of heat. They exchange looks of muted passion through fluttering lashes--but as Liudolf turns himself away, the young vampire can’t help but feel a sudden burn of satisfaction.

He smirks to himself and thinks--perhaps the next few hours won’t be as painful as he had initially expected.


End file.
